The Sheik and the Slave (25 page)

"Be a love and don
’
t
tell on me," Bessie whispered.

Penelope rolled her eyes. Bessie had taken to disappearing
at night. She didn
’
t
know where she went and didn
’
t
want to know.

"You're a disgrace. We are novices, here to serve the
Lord."

Bessie snorted.

"You may be, not me. I'm here because my father is
trying to get rid of me. I've other ideas of serving and they have nothing
whatsoever to do with the Lord."

Penelope changed into her small nightgown and felt her
nipples pucker in the cold air.

"Go on then. I won
’
t
tell," she said.

Bessie smiled and raced across the stones, leaving the
convent by a kitchen door.

***

Bessie had been bored the entire day. The day had been
filled with prayer, more prayer, and work. She had been on her knees half the
day on the cold stone floor and it irritated her. She knew of much more
exciting things to do on her knees that had little to do with prayer.

She took the large brush in one hand and combed the girl's
long tresses. Across the bed from Bessie was the Abbess, reading the French
Bible.

Bessie remembered the time she and the local milkman's son
had been alone in her father's church one Sunday morning. It had been a cold
morning and her nipples had hardened underneath the worn cloth of her dress.
Ben had seen her nipples harden and had begun to rub his leg against hers. She
told him playfully to stop, as the church services were to start soon, but he
had continued his attentions.

Eventually, she had ended up against her father's pulpit
with Ben's cock buried deep inside her pussy. She had milked him dry and smiled
at the thought. She had sat through her father's service on chastity and
virginity with Ben's cum dripping down the inside of her leg.

***

Bessie sighed. She drew the brush through the girl's golden
hair as the Abbess continued reading.

She looked at the girl longingly and her heart felt heavy.
She
must have been a woman of a great house and then cast down because of the baby.
Or maybe she was married and the man had died?
Bessie's mind whirled and
wondered. She saw that the woman wore no ring.
The poor baby,
she
thought.

Just as the Abbess turned a page of the book, the woman
began to moan in her sleep. It startled both woman, and the Abbess dropped her
book in her haste to get to the girl.

"Did you hear that, my dear?" Abigail asked
Bessie.

"Yes, Abbess. It sounded like gobbledygook,"
Bessie confirmed.

"No, no. It sounded like something else," Abigail
said as she looked down at the girl sleeping.

She touched the girl
’
s
forehead lovingly and found it burning with fever.

"I'll return shortly. Watch over her," she told
Bessie.

***

Abigail settled herself behind the large walnut desk, pulled
out a sheet of parchment from the drawer, and dipped her quill pen into the
ink.

The letter was dated accordingly and began:
To Father O
’
Day of Kilkenny
Grey Friary.

Abigail finished the lengthy letter and would await a
response. If the girl was as ill as she suspected, she must risk the journey to
Ireland to have the Father in Kilkenny look after her. He was renowned
throughout the land for his knowledge of medicine, and he could look after the
young woman through this difficult time. Abigail breathed a sigh of relief when
the letter was sent. If anyone could help her, it was Father O
’
Day.

***

Abigail quickly scanned the letter she received from
Kilkenny and then closed her eyes in relief.

“
Praise
be to God,
”
she
murmured silently.

Father O'Day would accept the girl in Kilkenny and take care
of her during this time. She must make immediate arrangements to take her to
Ireland.

Chapter
17

Mohammed cradled the glass of brandy in his large hand.
Alcohol was forbidden in Islam, but he knew why people succumbed to its lure.
He was desperate for news of Katharine, and so far the trail was cold. Lord
Fairfax had tried to find out what had happened to her, but had been equally
unsuccessful.

When the boy mentioned the man with the scar, Mohammed felt
his blood run cold. He knew of a man from Arabia who was a well-known
mercenary. He had committed crimes for which he was never held accountable, and
he had eventually fled Arabia.

Jean Baptiste was a mercenary whose barbarity and cruelty
was for sale to the highest bidder. Mohammed knew of the man by face and
reputation, and was chilled to the core to think of Katharine in Jean Baptiste
’
s clutches. What was even
worse was that someone had hired Jean Baptiste to make Katharine to disappear,
and Mohammed wondered who that might be.

That Katharine was in his hands, pregnant with their child,
caused him to shudder. He cursed Allah silently and then hung his head in his
hands. Where was she? How was he to find her?

Mohammed turned to his greatest advisor and friend,
Abdullah, sure in the knowledge that he would help him. Together with Lord
Fairfax, they would find Katharine.

***

Katharine
’
s
vision swam but finally focused. A kindly older woman sat beside her, sleeping.
The room was bare except for the bed, a single chest of drawers, a small table,
and a chair. It was sparse in decoration, except for a single cross nailed to
the wall.

She couldn
’
t
remember how she had come to be there, but she did remember the vile man and
his abduction of her.

He had tried to violate her, but she had fought him. She
tried to remember something else that was nagging at her from the back of her
mind, but she couldn
’
t
grasp it. She remembered a struggle and the strange red floor, but little else.

Her head ached and she settled into a disturbed sleep.

***

Jean Baptiste nursed his beer, slowly sipping the drink.

His plan had to abduct the woman and make a purse of gold in
Arabia was gone. Everything had been perfectly planned until he had had that
bitch alone. He was irritated and, as an old habit, he fingered the deep scar
on his face.

He had only wanted a brief taste of the woman, and nothing
more. He had been without a woman for a while and had been beckoned by her soft
curves, sea-colored eyes, and lush lips. Her curves were made for sex; that
much was clear.

Abdullah had wanted her on the ship to Arabia, but he never
said anything about Jean Baptiste sampling the goods for himself. He had only
wanted a quick taste, for his cock to be milked, and then to take her to the
destination. But, the trollop had turned on him like a wild banshee.

He downed the beer and asked the barmaid for another. He
watched the barmaid
’
s
bottom twitch as she walked away and he stroked his cock.

With bright red hair and a plump figure, Jean Baptiste
thought she would do just as well.

He went outside the tavern and relieved himself. When the
barmaid came outside for a bit of air, he grabbed her arm.

“
No,
don
’
t,
”
she gasped, but he was
too strong for her.

“
Quiet,
”
he told her.

His cock was already straining his breeches as he thought of
the young blonde
’
s
face. He pressed the barmaid into the back wall of the tavern.

Someone had begun singing a bawdy song inside and a fiddler
joined in. Soon the whole place was alive with music and glasses clinking. No
one would be able to hear the red-haired girl cry as her skirts came up against
her wishes.

“
It
will be over soon,
”
he told her roughly.

His body anchored her to the wall as he pushed her legs to
wrap around his waist.

She tried to fight him once, but he slapped her sharply
across the face.

“
Do
you want to be unconscious? I
’
ll
knock you out if that be your wish. Settle down, little tart,
”
he growled at her.

She shook her head as his cock entered her body swiftly and
fully, stuffing her.

“
Be
a good girl,
”
he
told her.

He held the girl still as he sank into her tight hole.

She cried out and he began to move in and out of her.

“
Oh
God,
”
he choked out
once and grunted.

He pushed into her, with animal grunts coming from him,
before he came inside the girl, jerking as the ropes of milk filled her pussy.
He pulled out of her and saw the white seed spill down her leg. He buttoned
himself up slowly and watched the girl adjust her clothing.

Before he walked back inside the tavern, he threw a shilling
on the ground at her feet.

***

Mohammed met with Lord Fairfax, who assured him that he
would hire the Bow Street Runners to track down Katharine. When Baron Adams had
her abducted in revenge for her refusal of him, they had been successful in
discovering what had occurred. Baron Adams still remained missing and had not
returned to society due to Edward
’
s
absolute resolve to force a duel.

Edward and Mohammed were certain that the Runners would find
out what had happened to Katharine and where she might be.

In the meantime, Mohammed wanted Abdullah to find Jean
Baptiste. As half-Arab, he might be hidden in a dirty part of London that would
never have been known to them. Abdullah might be able to ferret him out,
knowing the language and the people.

Abdullah nodded but said nothing.

“
Inshallah,
we will find her safe and soon,
”
he said to Mohammed.

***

Sally dried her tears as her brother, Liam, clenched his
teeth in frustration.

“
I
’
ll kill him,
”
he yelled.

Sally had told her brother of the rape and had been
devastated when she had been taken against her will.

 
“
Let
the authorities deal with him. He
’
s
a monster,
”
she
said.

“
No.
I will deal with this myself,
”
Liam told his fearful sister.
“
I
swear it.
”

***

Abdullah spent a week doing as he had been bidden, and
tracking down Jean Baptiste in London was no small feat. Jean Baptiste was a
mercenary who lived in the dark and could easily blend in with the criminals in
the great city. Abdullah, having been a palace guard, knew how to find someone
who didn
’
t want to
be found.

While Abdullah made quiet enquiries into finding the
mercenary, he kept Mohammed at bay, saying he was getting closer to finding
him. He was not at all surprised when he discovered Jean Baptiste residing in a
disreputable inn in Whitechapel. It had taken him time to discover his
whereabouts, but an Arab man in London was not common, and Jean Baptiste had
the disfiguring scar, which stood out as well.

Abdullah had learned early in his life that most men could
be bought and those who couldn
’
t
could be made to talk with pain and torture. He could use both to his
advantage. And so, he found himself at The Mucky Duck one evening to confront
the mercenary.

Abdullah was not afraid of Jean Baptiste. Since the
half-breed was a cold-blooded killer and a wanted man, it only made him
understand the man more. That Abdullah had paid him well to perform a service
he had not performed only angered the advisor. He was owed an answer.

He noticed that the stairs in the back of the inn were worn
and creaked as he made his way to the man
’
s
room. He carried a sharp knife on his person and would use it in a moment
’
s notice. As a well-built
man, Abdullah had grown a tad soft as chief advisor to the sheik, but his roots
were seeped in brute force.

He knocked on the door and was immediately let in. The room
was dark with a bed, drawers, a table, and a lone candle on it. One chair stood
next to the table. The room had an air of neglect, and Abdullah almost sneered
at the insignificant man who stood before him. He seemed content in his meager
surroundings.

“
Ahlan,
my friend,
”
Jean
Baptiste spoke a greeting to Abdullah and gestured for him to enter.

Abdullah stepped into the room flinging his robes behind him,
while the mercenary watched him warily. He didn
’
t
entirely trust the large man.

Though Mohammed chose to and easily moved between the
English world and the Arab one, changing clothes and languages as he went,
Abdullah would not. He chose to always remember his great land and culture, and
he dressed accordingly.

He continued to wear the traditional clothing, which was a
loose, long-sleeved ankle-length garment made of wool in a deep blue color. He
looked briefly around the drab room and then settled on the lone chair. He
looked across to the dangerous man who stood before him.

“
We
had an agreement. Have you fulfilled your end of the bargain? Did you place her
on the ship to Arabia and not accompany her?
”
Abdullah asked directly.

Jean Baptiste hated men like Abdullah, and he watched him
warily. The advisor was too sure of himself and his place within the sheik
’
s household. He was a
trusted advisor, but cunning and cruel. Rather than support his friend, he had
chosen to betray him. For all their differences, he was not better.